When the soul is naked, her clothes are made sigh. It borders transhumance
of words and she gets wind on my lips.
morning blush, wishes are enabled, stops the time versus time for each song to its name.
There appeared one night without permission and without needing it, as pretty as ever. It looked
no intention or gadgets, squinting from the table on the window, wearing a dress that left her bare shoulders and blond hair off her resting on the side of his neck.
little more than yesterday saw its becoming easy reach. I did not expect and yet there was in front of me. Leaving aromas of good times to come in every dialogue rampant.
And no sooner appeared, your smile I hit the sadness in the hearts and shattered.
now stripped the bodies and souls. And all those clothes is breath in the mouths of the two. Leaving behind the promises we made the aromas of good times to come. And feeling that is satisfying in the taste of the good times have arrived.
Photo: I shot Myself
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